


every inch of his face

by paulmcmuffin



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind AU, M/M, McLennon Fanfic Exchange, i concentrated on the plot???, i'm sorry if you were looking for something idk graphic??, just some kissing that's it, so be gentle, this is my first fanfic in english i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcmuffin/pseuds/paulmcmuffin
Summary: Paul meets John in Notting Hill, likes his company but suddenly realises the other doesn't remember anything about him. He ends up doing the exact same thing: erasing his memories. Descriptions of the moments John and Paul had and the evolution of their relationship that was but wasn't at the same time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE NOTES BEFORE THE FIC, THEY ARE IMPORTANT!  
> This is the first time I'm writing a fic in English. My first language is Finnish and you may be able to see it. I know very little about punctuation in English so commas and other punctuation marks may be partly missing or just very random.  
> I concentrated on the plot because it's a complicated one. I thought it was the most important part of the story so it's the main thing. There's some emotions and kissing, though.  
> The memories are partly from the film itself, partly from my imagination and partly from John and Paul's real life. I had to watch the film for this fic so I thought it would be good to use it as a solid base. Seriously man I know nothing about fic writing.
> 
> The italic text is either their thoughts or descriptions of the scenery changing between memories. The descriptions are a bit different from the other text; that's why they're in italic. The thoughts are just quotes without quotation marks, not very long so you'll be able to tell the memories and descriptions apart.  
> The fic is set in the 2000's, Paul is in his thirties and John is a bit younger.
> 
> THIS FIC BELONGS TO THE MCLENNON FANFIC EXCHANGE HELD BY TUMBLR USER toppermostofthepoppermost!

It was just another ordinary day in his stupid, pathetic life. The flat smelled like milk that had been on the table overnight. The taste in his mouth told him that some drinking had been happening last night – or the one before that. The air was dusty and the sunlight hit the dust particles and made the scene look like it was from one of those sunny days in your childhood when you were travelling with your parents by car, the air was heavy and you were trying to catch the tiny things floating in front of you. He smelled the covers of his bed and decided to wash them; the odour they had gained during the past months was starting to gross him out. He got up and went to wash his teeth.   
Paul McCartney’s life wasn’t all sunshines and rainbows. Hadn’t been for a long time. He had a shitty job and no will to live. Nobody was going to miss him anyway so jumping in front of a train instead of going to work by it sounded more tempting every day. The unbelievably unpleasant taste was gone from his mouth and replaced by one of fresh mint that almost made him throw up.   
He didn’t eat, he didn’t care actually. The empty feeling in his stomach matched with the one in his heart, so he really was okay with the fact that he had been practically starving for the past two days. He put some clothes on and went out the door leaving the unwelcoming flat behind him.   
Valentine’s Day was coming. He couldn’t give two fucks about it. A day invented just to make people feel like shit, lonely, unwanted and miserable in every way. Or was it just him? Useless it was, anyway.   
He didn’t feel like going to work. He never did. He didn’t actually feel like living in general but he thought better than to off himself in front of dozens of people. The tracks were packed with people, so many self-important bastards going to do their amazingly significant work nobody could actually care less about. So full of themselves. Paul despised them.   
A train to Notting Hill was leaving. It was on a different track. He had enough time to run 200 metres and catch the train. He wasn’t going to work, that was for sure. He didn’t want to see any more pathetic people who looked charming and successful next to him. All his coworkers, they were so much better than him. Or at least that was what they seemed to think. Paul was so full of their shit; he wanted to resign just because of the mocking looks they gave to him on daily basis. But he’d gotten weaker, he didn’t really care anymore. Or he pretended he didn’t.   
So going to work was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to get away from it all, get something new to think about. The train to Notting Hill seemed like a sign of the little goodness that was left in this world. He took the chance.   
Running through the crowd, bumping into some strangers, Paul headed for the other track. He got a few angry glares but couldn’t care less. Stairs, there were stairs. He climbed them up quickly, so quickly he almost fell over. Grabbing a hold on a railing he gained his balance and ran again like there was tomorrow. Well, in Paul’s case one could never know about that.   
The doors were almost closed when he caught the train. He squeezed himself in and let out a shaky breath. Surprisingly the train was almost empty. He sat down and took his notebook from his bag. He had absolutely no idea why he was on a train going to fucking Notting Hill; he had no connections to the place whatsoever, a totally unknown part of the city. He still had a funny feeling that he had made the right decision. Or maybe it was just because he had decided to stay alive, for Christ’s sake.   
Paul liked poems. He wasn’t any kind of a writer, he was rubbish, but he still liked to test his skills every now and then. There was always a notebook in his bag. Well, it was a journal, actually, but calling it that way would sound a bit too girly. He filled the pages with his own poems, inspired by other poems (he read a great deal of them) or his anxiety-filled life. He didn’t want to admit that, in reality, the poems were lyrics. He wrote songs, just for the fun of it. Wasn’t that good of a singer, really.   
This one was going to be good, he could feel it. Scribbling down the words he felt his hand go numb and sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. When the lines are in your head, you have to get them on the paper as soon as possible. Otherwise they can just vanish and never come back again. Desperately Paul wanted to save those tiny bits of inspiration, wrote the words down and almost ripped the paper apart with his pen.   
“Oh fuck.”   
The pen stopped working. He only had one pen with him, it was the best one. Everyone has that one pen they can’t give up. The lucky one. Well, Paul didn’t anymore ‘cause the fucker decided to die in the middle of an amazing sentence. Yeah, the words were gone from his head. The poem was unfinished. The last word was fucking  _ and _ . Oh, the frustration.   
The now useless pen was left in his hand when he let his head fall down and hit the notebook so hard the others in the train turned to look at him. This was it, the lowest he could get. Ruin a perfect poem by fucking up the pen. Congrats, Paul, you’ve made it.   
Once he had calmed down a bit he could feel his eyelids starting to feel heavier by each blink. He’d had some troubles with sleeping for a month now so he was feeling tired all the time. There was no reason to stay awake, really, so he closed his eyes and surrendered to the sweet dream.   
It didn't last too long. The train stopped abruptly, like something had gotten on its way. Paul was ripped violently from his dream. With droopy and bloodshot eyes he looked out the window and saw a glimpse of the English suburb that he usually find one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Right now it only made him flinch. The other people on the train didn't seem too distraught, so maybe there wasn't any reason for panicking.    
The train started moving again, very slowly but moving anyway. Paul realised that the Notting Hill Tube station wasn't too far away. Some problems with the schedule, perhaps. 

It was rather quiet in Notting Hill. Well, Paul didn't actually know the place that well, so the people could've been somewhere else, but near the station it was silent as ever. No busy businessmen going to do their exhausting work or middle-aged women walking their dogs. No one. Except one young man.   
The boy was leaning against the wall of some bakery. Smoking a cigarette. Paul was looking at him from about 20 metres, enchanted by the way the man blew the smoke out. Circles, he made circles out of the smoke.    
Suddenly, Paul didn't feel that bad anymore. The crippling depression wasn't that crippling anymore. Something in the way the man in front of him closed his eyes every time he blew new smoke circles out allowed him to relax after so many stressful days. The slender fingers held the fag so delicately and Paul felt a sudden rush of familiarisation. The black leather jacket, the boots, he was sure he had seen them somewhere before but they were out of his reach by now. The boy was looking at him.   
Two brown eyes were focused on him. Actually they looked a bit short-sighted. The quiff had fallen apart a little, some strands were loose and hanging in the man's eyes. He had a sly smile on his thin lips. He flicked the butt of the ciggie out and took a new one out of his pocket. A lighter flashed.   
"What ye lookin' at then?" the man said. Something in his voice told Paul that he used it for something else than just talking. A bit scratchy, it was.   
His whole body was facing Paul now. Sucking the cigarette lightly he took a few steps forward and studied Paul's face, still wearing that stupid grin on his lips.   
The nostalgia. It was real. Paul didn't know why the fuck he felt like he had met this man before but he definitely felt that way. There was no denying that.   
Drawing a lazy hand through his already messed quiff of hair the man walked closer to Paul, so close that they were breathing the same air. He offered the ciggie to Paul who took it gratefully and smoked the last of it before tossing the butt away.   
"Have we met before?" he asked Paul raising his eyebrows. The smile was a playful one now. Paul didn't say anything. The scent of the man's aftershave was very overpowering.   
"The train", he said after a long pause. The train back to the centre was arriving any time soon. He had no business in Notting Hill, really, so why should he stay there?    
"Ye gotta catch it?" the man in the leather jacket asked. He drew another ciggie out of his pocket and flicked the lighter. A chain smoker.   
Paul couldn't take his eyes off the man in front of him. The ever present feeling of familiarity messed with his head. He was sure he hadn't seen the other before but his guts told him otherwise. The narrow, almost blind eyes, the crooked nose and the thin lips... Somehow Paul knew every inch of them.   
Yeah, the guy was incredibly attractive.   
Just standing there, smoking the third cigarette. How the fuck could he be so beautiful doing something so ordinary?   
"Yeah", Paul breathed out and tore his gaze away from the man's eyes. The train schedule was somewhere near, he had seen it earlier.   
"Three minutes", he said, glanced at the other quickly and started running once again. He couldn't take the risk of missing the train.

The train was even emptier than the one in the morning if possible. Paul was staring at the notebook. He had opened it where the unfinished poem lay. Maybe he hoped that the staring would make the poem finish itself.   
"Need a pen?"   
_ What the fuck. _   
Paul was sure the man didn't get on the train. He hadn't seen him. What was he doing in the seat in front of him, then?   
Paul looked around. There was no one else in this department. He looked at the notebook in front of him and decided that he needed a pen desperately. So fucking badly, really.   
"Ye got one?"   
The man tossed a pen on Paul's notebook. It wasn't the same as his favourite pen - of course not - but he could do with any pen right now, he needed to finish the piece. The words were in his head again.   
Scribbling down the lyrics Paul didn't see the guy staring at him and smirking in that same teasing way he had done before. His brown eyes lit up when the lighter flashed again.   
"Ye a poet or somethin'?" the man asked.   
Paul didn't answer; he was writing the last line. Almost finished, almost stress free.   
"Are ye?"   
Silence.   
Pen put down on the table.   
Stretching fingers.   
A sigh.   
"Ye could at least tell me yer name", Paul answered finally.   
"Not till ye give that pen back 'n' answer me question."   
The man was looking at him intensively. Didn't blink. Sucking his fag, tears streaming from his red eyes. The smoke. He still looked breathtakingly beautiful. Paul's mouth fell open, the sight reminded him of something, he just didn't remember what.   
Wiping the boy's wet cheeks he gave the pen back and said: "Yes, I am. Stop smoking for a minute, though." He took the ciggie from the man's lips and sucked on it.   
The man locked eyes with Paul. He looked at him as though he somehow knew already who Paul was. Or maybe it was just Paul's own feelings.   
Licking his thin lips the man said: "It's John."   
Paul kind of knew it from the start.   
He smiled at John and offered his hand over the back rest of the seat. "I'm Paul."   
John took Paul's hand in his own and shook it lightly. Paul rather felt than saw the other's eyes land on his lips and from there travel across his face, all the way up to his arched eyebrows.   
"Ye got a girly face, mate", John said, let go of Paul's hand and smirked again. Paul blushed a little and smiled shyly. He told everyone he didn't pluck his eyebrows but they all knew otherwise. No one could have natural eyebrows like that.   
Flipping through the pages of his journal he tried his best to ignore John's staring. He was still smoking the man's cigarette and wasn't going to give it back. The smoke was bad for John's eyes.   
"Have we met before?" John asked eagerly. He snatched the journal from Paul's hands and read one, two, three poems. Raising his eyebrows he hummed in acceptance.   
"I don't think so", Paul said firmly and took his journal back. John let out a disappointed sigh.   
"Those are real good, lad", he assured. He sat in his seat backwards and leaned forward resting his arms on the back rest. He drew a hand through his messy hair once again and tried to read the lyrics.    
"You could make a couple of cracking songs out of them", John continued and wiggled restlessly in his seat.    
"I know."   
That answer was quite final.   
John didn't say anything anymore but kept on staring at the other. He was reading his own works and folding some of the pages to mark them as the good ones, probably. The concentrated expression on Paul's face was rather charming. While he was looking down at the book John noticed that the man's eyelashes were quite long. Considering his sex, at least. John leaned a bit more forward.   
"What ye starin' at?" Paul asked. His tone wasn't that friendly anymore.   
"Am I annoyin' ye?" John smirked – again.   
"A bit, one could say."   
John sighed lightly. He got up and moved to sit on the seat next to Paul. The other looked at him wearing a surprised expression on his girly face.   
"Sorry 'bout that. I'm just absolutely certain that I have seen ye somewhere before this", John said apologetically. He dicked through his pockets, looking for another ciggie and his lighter. Paul stopped his hand's movement with his own.   
"Don't want to see ye bloody cryin' again", he whispered. John was looking at him with his hooded eyes. God, why didn't the lad wear glasses?   
John smiled openly, showing his teeth.  _ He got real nice teeth.  _ "Yeah, me eyes don't work that well."   
Paul couldn't even remember the depression and all that shit. He hadn't felt so happy in ages, probably in years. Suicide wasn't any option anymore, he wanted to live, he wanted to experience more things like this, feel like this more often. Something about the other man made him... glow.   
"What ye smilin' 'bout?"   
Was he smiling?   
"Have ye been to any concerts recently? Could've seen ye there", Paul answered and tried not to smile so widely. The happiness that was bubbling inside him didn't make it any easier.   
"Yeah, I thought I saw ye in this one concert last week! Yeah, that must be it! God the band were good, weren't they?" John was practically jumping up and down in his seat.   
"Blowin' like a fuckin' hurricane, they were."

He had no idea how they had ended up here. One minute they had been talking about that concert they'd been to last week and the next John had been dragging him to some lake.   
In winter.   
"Come on, please, the place is fucking amazing, I wanna show ye something there", John had persuaded. The idea had sounded absolutely ridiculous to a still kind of depressed Paul (he had had no energy for shit like that) but the way the brown, almost blind eyes had shone changed his mind. What a weak bastard, he was.   
And now here he was, lying on some frozen lake with a bloke he hardly knew.   
"Stars", he said in a confused tone.   
"That's what we are here for", John answered and beamed with happiness. He pointed at some stars smiling the most blinding smile ever. Paul felt very content while watching the other man next to him pointing at the sky. The cold breeze wasn't that cold then.   
"I like to think that the stars we see shining most brightly are people that have been important to this world", John explained. He pointed at one, very big and bright star. "Like that one right there. That must be Frank Sinatra. He was such a cool kid."   
Paul thought about it. He had heard a bit different version of the story when he was little. After his mum had passed away his dad had shown him the brightest star in the sky and told him: "That is yer mum, lad. She's always lookin' after ye. She'll be there, watching over ye, and she'll be very proud of her little boy. She knows yer gonna be something huge one day. She never left ye, okay, son. She never did."   
"Ye okay, son?"   
Just now Paul realised that he was crying. Crying like a fucking baby. He wiped his wet cheeks but it didn't make much of a difference since new tears began streaming down them. A suffocated sob escaped him.   
A comforting hand landed on Paul's thigh. He lifted his head and saw John looking at him with a worried expression.   
"What is it?" he asked frowning and began to move his hand on Paul's thigh in a soothing gesture.   
Paul's lower lip trembled. He wanted to get it out. He didn't even know this man but something told him that he was worth his trust.   
"Me mum's dead", he whispered. "Cancer. What a bastard."   
John didn't feel surprised. Of course he hadn't known that Paul's mum had died of cancer, he couldn't have, he had just met the man. But his reaction wasn't the panicked one Paul had gotten so used to seeing. He smiled a sad sort of smile and didn't say anything.   
After a few minutes Paul stopped crying. He wiped his wet face again and sighed deeply. John's hand was still on Paul's thigh.   
Paul was very grateful for John having said nothing. Usually people just lost their shit when he told them his mum had died of cancer. It wasn't very surprising that his mum had died; he was in his thirties for Christ's sake. But the cancer part freaked everyone out. What a tragedy, our Paulie didn't deserve that. How can you cope? They were so concentrated on the way Mary had died that Paul couldn't explain  _ when _ it had happened. Cause that was the crucial part.   
He had been fourteen when his mum had passed away.   
"Dad told me that she's there, in the sky, looking after me as a star. Can't remember which one, though", Paul said with a weak, still trembling voice.   
"She must be that one", John answered pointing at the brightest and biggest star. "Bet your mum was beautiful, so her star should be too."   
Paul looked into the other man's eyes. He saw unexpected sorrow in them. Maybe John  _ knew _ how he felt? But how could he?   
"Ye really should wear glasses", Paul said to lighten up the atmosphere. He didn't want to spend this evening by crying after his long lost mother when he had quite good company. John snorted and smiled.   
"Wanna come over?" he said while getting up. Paul looked up at him with a questioning look on his face.   
"Come on, it's not like I wanna finish ye off there", John exclaimed throwing his hands in the air. Paul laughed and felt a little bit more relaxed. "Just don't wanna leave ye here all alone after bawling yer eyes out."   
Paul looked at John in the eyes intensively. The man really, really looked almost blind. He probably didn't even see Paul from there. He drew a hand through his hair again. The quiff was gone now. Paul liked the way the hair strands fell into the man's eyes, finally freed. A cigarette was brought up to his thin lips. A lighter flashed once again.   
"Ye sure ye wanna smoke that?" Paul asked, still a bit worried about the way John's eyes reacted to the smoke.   
The cigarette hadn't lit up. John looked at Paul holding the lighter in his hands. The fag was dangling from his lips, almost falling to the ground.   
Paul got up slowly, still looking at the other and took the ciggie from John's lips, leaving them slightly parted. Carefully Paul traced the other's cheek with his fingertips.   
"I'll come over if ye stop smoking", he whispered. The skin under his fingers was the softest kind. He saw some freckles here and there.  _ He wears some good cologne. _ _  
_ John gave his cigarettes and lighter to Paul and smiled slyly. "Then I have some requests too", he said. Paul raised his eyebrows.   
"Like what?"   
John took Paul's hand, looked at him with that annoyingly attractive smirk playing on his lips and started running away from the lake.   
"Holy shit, stop, mate!" Paul screamed and tumbled, almost fell down. John kept dragging him across the frozen lake. The ice beneath their feet cracked dangerously as they ran.   
"What the fuck are ye doing?" Paul yelled and tried to slip away from John's hold. The calloused fingers were wrapped around his hand too firmly.   
"To take ye on an adventure!" John yelled back and laughed the most beautiful laugh Paul had ever heard. He already loved it.   
"Is that yer request?" Paul answered. They were on the beach now. He felt more safe with solid ground under his feet. The pace didn't seem to slow down.   
"Well, yeah, but I'm not actually requesting anything cos we are already going on an adventure", John said and entangled their fingers together to make the hold even firmer.   
"Ye bastard!"

_ Some adventure that was. _ _  
_ They had been driving around the city for the whole night. At first they had taken the train back to the centre and gone to Paul's place (which was surprisingly close to the tube station) and taken his car. Part of the deal had been that Paul had to be driving for the whole time. John had just given instructions. Well, not actually. He had told Paul to drive wherever the fuck he wanted but to stay in London. With that, he had fallen asleep.   
Now they were outside John’s house. Paul had parked the car and now waited for the other man to wake up. It was Paul's car, for fuck's sake.   
John cracked an eye open and looked at the other, twisting his face. The sun was shining and blinding his already bad eyesight.   
"Hello", he said hoarsely. He rubbed his eyes and yawned quietly. "What time is it, mate?"   
"Nine AM."   
John frowned. His hair was sticking up in every direction possible. The grease from yesterday made it even messier.   
"How long were we driving?" he asked and stretched his hurting arms.   
"For five hours, I think", Paul answered and sighed. He had been up for over 24 hours without any sleep. He was so tired he dozed off for a second. Damn John and his orders.    
John didn't look tired at all. He had been asleep for most of the journey and was all pumped now. He leaned a bit toward Paul and smiled widely revealing his teeth.   
"Let me come over", he said excitedly. Paul looked at him with tired eyes that had bags underneath them. He raised one of his well-shaped eyebrows.   
"Let me sleep, man."   
"Come on, I won't bother ye fer long, just let me see yer flat!" John exclaimed and nudged Paul's arm lightly. Paul focused his hazy eyes on John's lips for some reason.   
"I'm gonna get some stuff. Stay here." John opened the car door and got up. He closed the door loudly and ran toward his home. Paul sighed deeply once again and started looking for John's ciggies and lighter. They should be in his pockets.   
He found the fags, took one, put it between his full lips and lit up with the other's lighter. Exhaling the smoke he felt himself relax a bit. The long drive had tensed his muscles up – not to mention his mind.   
Suddenly there was a knock on the window.   
Paul looked through the window and saw a young man outside who gestured Paul to roll the window down.   
"What d'ye want?" he asked the man.   
"Are you Paul McCartney?" the other asked. He seemed a bit upset, out of breath.   
"Yea... how d'ye know that?" Paul said and flicked the butt of the ciggie out the window.   
"You here to meet John Lennon?" the man asked ignoring Paul's question, which annoyed him a bit.   
"I am but it's none of your business!" he snapped. "How d'ye know me?"   
The man looked down at his feet, mumbled something inaudible and paced around restlessly. Paul almost got out the car to finish this bullshit until the man whispered: "You shouldn't be here, this shouldn't be happening."   
"What do ye mean? What do ye mean I shouldn't be here? Who are ye?" Paul yelled and was starting to feel panicked.   
The man glanced at Paul one more time with terror in his eyes and started running away from the car. Paul yelled after him, told him to stop but he was too far away to hear him.

Paul had driven back home and parked the car there.   
He was crying.   
The sobs shook his body violently. He wanted to scream, just to get it all out. He couldn't believe this. How had this happen?  _ How? _   
He tasted the salty tears. His eyes were red and puffy. Everything hurt.   
The sky cried with him.

Valentine's Day. The most useless holiday of the year. Paul had never liked it, he thought it was all fare collection. Companies using people for their own good. Making money, nothing else. Paul had never been a victim of advertising on Valentine's Day.   
Until now.   
He had bought a fucking present for John. A present. He didn't do something like that, ever. But the present was good, he knew it. He had called John but he hadn't answered. So he was heading for the man's workplace, a local bookstore.   
The air was fresh. It had rained last night. Somewhere it had snowed, but not in London. Paul breathed in deeply and let the cold breeze sweep across his face. The bookstore wasn't far away, he could walk there.   
Melancholy was settling in again. He had an empty feeling in his gut all the time, all happiness was gone. He didn't have a good feeling about this present thing. Maybe humans had a sixth sense that could tell things like what will happen in the future.   
He had listened to  _ Sound of Silence _ 20 times in a week.   
The bookstore. Here it was. He opened the door. A familiar smell of old books hit him. There were a couple of customers but he soon found what he was looking for.   
John worked as a shop assistant. He usually organised books and put new ones out for people to see. Today he was at the counter. Paul held the present tighter in his hands and started walking toward the counter anxiously. John usually noticed him the moment he walked through the door. Something was off, Paul could sense that.   
When he was in front of the counter, John lifted his head up from the book he was reading, looked at Paul in the eyes and said: "How can I help ye, sir?"   
Paul's mouth fell open and went dry. He couldn't swallow. His fingers seemed colder. Blood rushing in his ears. Sheer emptiness.   
"Sir?"   
He was deaf. He didn't hear anything except for the rushing blood. His vision started to blur, maybe he should sit down. Passing out seemed likely.   
"Please let me know if I can help ye, sir", John said and continued reading the book. Paul's face was blank, he felt nothing, he was numb. He turned away and walked toward the door. He bumped into some strangers and earned a few angry looks. The buzzing in his ears was too loud for him to hear anything else.   
The minute he walked out the door he could hear again: people talking, cars passing by, planes in the sky. He saw crystal clearly. Heartbeat hammering in his chest. He fell on his knees. Tears, tears everywhere.   
He was so fucking tired of crying.

A door slammed shut behind him.   
He was done. Absolutely drained. There was nothing that kept him here anymore. He could just end it all. Nobody would care. Not even John.   
Paul threw the present away and collapsed on the floor next to dozens of letters that had been left unopened. Hiding his face in his hands he started to sob without crying. Just shaking uncontrollably. Screaming.   
What the fuck had he been thinking? That he was going to be happy again? That the depression was just gonna fuck off without further ado? That this one random fella he had met in fucking Notting Hill was going to save him?   
_ Git. _   
The floor was flooding with letters and bills. He couldn't be bothered to open them, he didn't care, he was about to leave this place anyway anytime soon. This one odd letter did catch his eye. He was sure it wasn't an ordinary bill, the envelope seemed weird. He picked it up. The paper of the envelope was somewhat yellow, a very disturbing colour. He opened the letter and read it.   
_ "Dear Paul McCartney, _ _  
_ _ we know that you didn't expect to receive this letter. You know nothing about this; it has been kept as a secret until now. We have the responsibility to tell you this because it affects your life as well – as you've probably noticed by now. _ _  
_ _ John Lennon was our customer a few weeks ago. He came here to delete you from his memory. You have the right to know about this even though it could affect your well being. He doesn't remember anything about you, every little detail considering you has been removed from his memory. _ _  
_ _ From now on, you have to base your life on something else. _ _  
_ _ The Clinic of Erased Yesterdays" _   
"What the fuck is this shit?" Paul whispered. He drew a hand through his greasy hair and sighed deeply. He couldn't believe this. How was something like that even possible?   
"The Clinic of Erased Yesterdays? Ye serious, mate?"   
It had to be a joke.   
The letter had the clinic's contact information in it. Paul couldn't take the letter seriously so he decided to go check what this was all about. He looked like utter shit. Tear stains on his cheeks, clothes he had been using for the past week without changing. He hadn't showered for three days. He couldn't care less though. He needed to know what had happened. The letter couldn't possibly be true. But the clinic had to exist; it had an address and all. So without bothering to clean himself up Paul stood up from the pile of letters and went out the door crumpling the clinic's letter in his right hand. He slammed the door shut again and walked the filthy stairs down heavily. God, someone should clean this corridor.

Paul had to go there by his car. The damned place was too far away for walking. He stepped out of the car and saw a white house that had other normal houses next to it with people living in them. He was surprised; why would a clinic that deleted memories be located in a normal English suburb? That sounded somewhat disturbing.   
Paul swallowed hard, wiped his teary cheeks once more and headed for the door. He took the letter out of his breast pocket and rang the doorbell. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. What the fuck was happening? Like his life couldn't get any worse.   
Just when he started to wonder why the hell there was a doorbell and why he had rung it the door opened. A young lady was looking at Paul with a puzzled look.   
"Why did you ring the bell, sir?" she asked and smiled awkwardly. She looked at Paul with pity in her eyes.  _ I sure know why. _ _  
_ "I guess I should be asking ye where there is a doorbell in the first place", he answered feeling slightly irritated. Why would there be a fucking doorbell if it wasn't meant for ringing?   
"Oh, right, sorry, um", the lady stuttered, "it's just that this was a normal house before the clinic moved here and removing a doorbell sounded kind of useless so we figured that sticking a note on the door would do the trick."   
Paul frowned and eyed the door for a while. Yeah, there sure was a note stuck on the door that said instead of ringing the doorbell you can just come in without any fuss. Congrats on being a pathetic ass – again.   
"Right, sorry", Paul said quietly. "I haven't been here before and am a bit confused. That's why I came here, actually."   
That seemed to do the trick. The lady looked at Paul again, this time wearing an expression of realisation on her face.   
"You got a letter?" she asked subtly.   
"I did."   
"Come on in then."   
The lady opened the door and stepped aside, letting Paul in. He came into a white corridor. The place looked very sterile, something you see in horror films in which the protagonist ends up in a mental hospital for whatever the fuck reason.   
"You'll see the doctor in five minutes", the lady said, went behind the desk and started shuffling some papers around. There were others waiting for their turn but the lobby was silent as ever. Paul waited until a man in his sixties came asking for his name.   
"It's me", Paul practically whispered and followed the doctor into some office. He sat down and waited for the man to start asking some questions doctors always do.   
"You got a letter then?" the doctor finally asked. Paul nodded and looked around a bit. The room seemed odd; everything was somewhat off.   
"What is this place?" Paul asked. "What did ye do to John?"   
The doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair. He took up some files and went through them for a while before answering. "Let's just say that we make people's lives easier."   
"In what way?" Paul screamed. "Do ye have any idea what this bullshit did to me already broken life? I'm suffering, man! All I want to do is to get away! You took the love of me life away from me!" Tears were streaming down his face for the millionth of time this day.   
"For the record, this was not our decision. John came to us himself. He wanted this. He wanted to forget you", the doctor defended himself. He gave Paul some handkerchiefs for wiping the tears away and went on: "We can't tell you exactly why John wanted to erase you, that information is confidential. But we can say that he was unhappy, he wanted to start all over. He felt like living with you wasn't the right choice."   
Paul was in shock. Every fiber in his body was aching. John was gone, he couldn't change that anymore. He was beyond his reach. He was so embarrassed of himself but couldn't hold the sobs inside. He was shaking and the doctor looked at him with understanding. Paul couldn't feel it though.   
"I think you should go now, Paul", the doctor said and was getting up before Paul interrupted him.   
"How did ye do it?"   
A silence of bafflement. "What?"   
"How is it done? How do ye fucking delete pieces of memories from a man's mind?" Paul spat out. He wanted to know what brutal ways they had used on his precious John even though he knew it would hurt even more.   
"It's not anything horrible, I promise. The procedure itself is very clean, no cutting skulls or anything", the man said sensing the disgust in Paul's attitude.   
"Then it wouldn't hurt to tell me about it", Paul demanded and sat up, ready to listen.   
In order to delete one person from another's memory every little item that is connected to that person had to be brought to the clinic. Journals, clothes, presents, records, anything, everything. The bigger the emotional connection, the better. The specialists then assembled a map of some sorts that showed every memory of that one person in a chronological order. When the map was finished, the patient was invited to the clinic and their state of health was checked (weight, height, blood pressure etc) before putting a helmet on their head. While wearing the helmet the patient was being asked questions about the items they had brought to the clinic. The helmet then found every memory the items were connected to and the map that had been formed earlier was in the patient's head. With the memories located they could be removed in their rightful order which was from the newest one to the very first. It was a brain damage, but a good one.

Paul couldn't take it any longer.   
_ John. John. Oh god, John. _ _  
_ He was running around in his flat, looking for stuff John had given him. John's clothes, the journal with the lyrics in it, the records John had bought him for Christmas. He threw them all in a trash bag. Tears were spilling from his swollen eyes. Everything was falling apart. He couldn't think clearly. It was like a song was playing in his head on repeat.   
_ John. John. Oh god, John. _ _  
_ His flat was a mess. He couldn't find anything. Books, clothes, records, notebooks and guitar picks scattered across the floor. He stumbled and almost fell down. A scream was torn from his throat. How the hell was he in this situation? How had it all come to this?   
_ John. _   
He had thought going to the clinic was the last thing he was going to do at any point. He didn't want to forget someone so important, someone who had almost saved his life. But he couldn't live like this; missing his former lover when the other didn't even recognise him anymore. This was the only solution there was left.   
_ Fucking hell, John. _ _  
_ He threw the trash bag to the back seat of his car. He started the car and looked at himself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes. Someone could think he had been smoking pot. A stubble. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually cared what he looked like.   
_ Shit, John! _ _  
_ He was screaming inside his head. The tyres were screaming too. He left his yard and turned to the road. He almost bumped into another car on the way. He wished he had.

He was there again. The clinic. He got up from the car, grabbed his stuff and went through the door without ringing the doorbell. The lobby was almost empty. With his trash bag his sat there waiting for something to happen. The place seemed like a cloud of fog had just landed there.   
"McCartney", the doctor called. It was the same man in his sixties. Paul got up and followed the man into another room. An examination room.   
He lifted his shirt and the doctor listened to his heartbeat and lungs with a stethoscope.   
"Ye sure this is not dangerous?" Paul asked.   
"It's a brain damage, aren't those dangerous?" the man answered.   
A helmet was put on his head. It was starting. Items put in front of him. A strange buzzing in his ears.   
"Tell me about this item", one of the specialists asked Paul and wrote something down in his notebook.   
It was the journal.   
He almost threw up.   
"We were on a train, I had met John in Notting Hill. He asked me about the poems I was writing down..."   
"This is going well", someone said. It was the doctor. Paul was next to him without the helmet.   
"I knew ye were going to say that", he said. "How is that?"   
"You have already been here", the doctor said and pointed at Paul who was wearing the helmet and answering the specialists' questions.   
"So am I... inside me head?" Paul asked.   
"Could be, I wouldn't know", the man shrugged. "I'd be there with you, y'know."   
"What does that even mean?"

Paul's flat. That's where he was. He was lying in his own bed, sleeping wearing another helmet. There were two random guys doing something with the computers that were attached to the helmet.   
"Shouldn't we start here?" the other said and pointed at something on the screen.   
"Yeah yeah, wait a sec, mate", the other sighed. Something had to be done before beginning the procedure.

Paul took the trash bag from the back seat of his car, slammed the door shut and headed for the door – again. He had just done this. He was in his flat. Actually he didn't know that. He smelled something burnt.   
"What about this?" the other specialist said and showed Paul the  _ Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme _ LP. Paul heard himself answer although it wasn't he who was speaking. The smell of something burnt was coming from the helmet.   
"I'm here again", he said but the doctor wasn't next to him.   
He felt the coldness of a stethoscope against his back. The examination room.   
"What do I have to do?" he asked only because he knew he had to; he had said it before.   
"Tell us about the items you brought here", the doctor said and smiled. It made Paul feel uneasy.

"What the fuck are ye doing?"   
Paul's flat. Again.   
"He's in the clinic again. It's a fucking loop. Do something, ye ass!", one of the guys yelled. The other sighed and cursed under his breath.   
"Jus' wait, ye twig. I'll cut it, jus' wait."   
The keyboard made some clicking noise. Someone was using it.   
_ Places shifting. Fog, there was fog everywhere. _

The door was being opened.   
Paul was in his flat. Awake. Sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand. A deep sigh escaped his lips.   
"What took ye so long?" he practically yelled after the other man had come inside.   
John stumbled into the living room, pissed out of his mind. He couldn't walk straight.   
"Fuck, fuck, fuck", he whispered as he walked to the sofa Paul was sitting on and collapsed on it.   
"None of yer business, that is", John finally breathed out. Paul put the glass of wine down and looked at the other with furious eyes.   
"How the hell isn't that me business, man? Yer so drunk I can't believe how ye managed to come home alive", he yelled and was starting to feel the anger building inside him.   
"Well, I might've bumped into some cars y'know", John said and snorted loudly. He was enjoying the situation. What a bastard.   
"Ye drove, ye arsehole?!"   
"I couldn't jus' leave the fuckin' car there, mate! Ye would've been even more furious about that, y'know. It's yer bloody car, fer Christ's sake!" John exclaimed and got up. Standing properly seemed like the hardest thing to do.   
"Fuckin' hell, John! The car is probably ruined forever now!"   
"Don't care though."   
That's when Paul rose as well. He looked at the other man with despise. He just couldn't believe this situation. The memory of lying on the frozen lake together and slowly falling in love with John was long gone. He could smell pot in the other's breath. The man was high as a cloud.   
Paul slapped John.   
"What the fuck?!" John was holding his right cheek. Paul had an evil smirk on his lips and pointed at the door.   
"Just fucking leave already."   
"What?"   
"JUST GO!"   
John didn't even bother with taking his stuff with him. Paul seemed so cross that he thought better than stay around for another five minutes. He stumbled toward the door while curse after curse spilled from his mouth.   
Another door slammed shut.   
Paul collapsed on the floor.   
_ When will I run out of tears? _ _  
_ _ The flat was vanishing. The sofa was ripped apart. The shelves fell down but didn't hurt him. Little fragments of the carpet were floating in the air for a second before everything was gone. Only Paul remained. _ _  
_ _ First memory erased. _

They were in their favourite cafeteria. The atmosphere felt kind of tense.   
"So what do ye think?"   
"About what?" Paul asked.   
"Fer fuck's sake, are ye listenin' to me?" John sighed and took a sip from his tea.   
"I do have my own thoughts, John", Paul said and rolled his eyes. Leaning back on his chair he could see the street behind the window better. He was trying to distract himself. He knew where this conversation was going. He didn't want to trouble himself with thinking about something so complicated.   
"Can ye stop with the fuckin' annoying accent? Yer a bleedin' Scouser, act like it!" John said and fumbled about with his cigarettes. The place was great for many reasons and one of them was the fact that you could smoke there without some arseholes complaining.   
"I believe that was not what ye were tryin' to say, man", Paul answered sarcastically going back to his Scouse accent. John snorted.   
"I already said it but since ye don't fuckin' listen to me, I'm gonna repeat it now, okay? Have ye thought about the adopting kids thing?"   
_ Oh, right, that one. _   
"I thought we wouldn't talk about this anymore", Paul whispered and frowned. He didn't want to drink his cold tea; the outside world was far too interesting.   
"Why not? Come on, it's the fuckin' 21st century man, it's not like gay couples adopting kids is weird anymore!"   
"But it fucking is!"   
"What?"   
John didn't read the bloody news.  _ Oh my god. _ _  
_ "We should just wait for a year or two, luv. Things will be different then. It's still kinda odd for gays to adopt children, okay. What a pity ye don't keep up with the world at all, baby", Paul said and tried to sound friendly.   
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YE SAYIN'?!"   
"John, calm down!"   
"Are ye telling me I'm stupid? Huh?!" John got up the chair. People were staring at them in the cafeteria.   
"No, I'm just saying that ye should think about the adoption a bit more before doing anything. That one gay couple didn't get their child last month and since then they have been receiving very aggressive letters saying that they don't deserve to be parents fer the sake of the kid. Ye see, I don't want that to happen to us", Paul said and got up himself. He tried to touch John's flushed cheek but the other slapped his hand away.   
"No! We agreed on this, Paul! We were gonna get kids!" John yelled. Paul saw tears in his eyes.   
"Yes, we are, John. But not now. Let's wait for a while, okay?" He felt his throat tighten.  _ Not this again. _ _  
_ "I don't wanna wait! Not any longer!"   
John stormed out the door and left Paul alone in the cafeteria. He felt the mean stares of other people bore into his skull. He blinked and let the tiny droplets of water spill out of his eyes.   
_ The floor vanished under his feet. The table collapsed next to him and the chandelier fell into pieces that transformed into bubbles. The fog returned and wrapped around Paul while everything around him was disappearing. _ _  
_ _ Another memory was gone. _

John didn't do anything. Paul had to do all the shitty household tasks himself; the other would never be troubled with helping him. It was driving Paul mad.   
_ We made a fucking agreement about this _ , he thought. He had let John live in his flat under one condition: the man would have to do the dishes and the laundry every now and then.  _ That's what being a couple is like. _ _  
_ John didn't seem to think that way.   
Paul was doing the dishes for the fourth time this week when he heard keys rattling behind the door. John was coming home.   
"Hello, luv", he said while closing the door behind him. Paul could only roll his eyes at the pet name. He wanted to have a serious conversation with the man.   
John took off his coat and threw it on the floor. He went into the kitchen where he found Paul by the sink aggressively trying to get that one spot of dirt off the plate. He wrapped his arms around Paul's waist and was going to kiss his neck when the other pushed him away.   
"What's wrong, Macca?" John sounded surprised. Paul couldn't understand how he didn't know what was bothering him.  _ He must be thick somehow. _ _  
_ "Try and think about it, man", he spat and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was pouty, something John would normally adore so much that he'd instantly lean in and kiss Paul's full lips tenderly. Wearing the apron he looked adorable as ever but these thoughts didn't actually suit the situation at hand.   
"Ye seriously seem really upset. What have I done?" John sounded quite worried.  _ He definitely should be. _ _  
_ "That's the point, mate! Nothin'! Absolutely nothin'! I have to do the fuckin' dishes every time, do the laundry and fold the fuckin' clothes. Ye don't do shit! I'm sick of it! Pull yer head outta yer arse and help me with this! Help me with life!"   
Paul was fuming. His perfectly shaped eyebrows were knitted together in a furious expression. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him. He couldn't take John's shit any longer. This had to end.   
John was a bit drunk. If he had a full load of alcohol, he could be sensitive. Paul's words were clearly making him uncomfortable and upset. He didn't mean to be so useless but he sometimes forgot things. And the agreement they had made before was one of them (he remembered it now). He wished he could make it up to Paul and prove that he wasn't that much of an arsehole, really. The blaming didn't make it feel any easier, though.   
The roles were reversed.   
Door closing behind Paul.   
Silent tears streaming down John's face.   
"What is happening to us?"   
_ Scarborough Fair  _ playing in the background.   
"You still have that LP then?"   
"Yeah, I do", Paul whispered behind the door. He never left.   
_ The floor suddenly broke apart under his feet. He was standing in the air. He felt everything collapsing and another memory being ripped from his head. The feeling of emptiness was overpowering. Losing a part of himself, of John. Losing him. _ _  
_ _ Everything was gone – again. _

_ Was there any good memories left at all? _ _  
_ _ Had all of them been bad? _ _  
_ _ There surely had to be something that left Paul still longing for John. _ _  
_ _ After so many disappointments and arguments, there still was that small spark of hope. Things had to change. This couldn't be all there was to see. _ _  
_ _ A memory deleted after another. _ _  
_ _ It left a hole in him. He didn't feel complete. _ _  
_ _ Was he making a mistake? _

He felt warm and happy.   
_ This is it. This is the good memory. _   
Under a blanket. John's flat. They hadn't moved together yet. It smelt different here. Incense of some sort.   
"Do ye think I'm ugly?" John asked.   
_ Oh god, it's this one. _ _  
_ John had earlier that day met an art collector someone had recommended in the hope of selling some of his paintings. He needed money desperately and knew that his paintings were good.   
Apparently this guy didn't agree with that.   
He had told John his paintings looked as bad as his 'exhausted, starving face'. Yeah, John hadn't been sleeping that well lately and there wasn't that much food in his flat because of the lack of money (he couldn't ask Paul to lend him any; he had done that several times already). But thanks for pointing it out, mate.   
He had been a wreck after that. He had looked at his reflection in the mirror many times and decided the guy had been right. And then he had asked Paul's opinion.   
The answer should've been obvious.   
"Of course not", Paul said just like he was supposed to and wrapped his arms around John's waist. They lay under the blanket with legs entangled together. It was cosy and warm. There were burning cigarettes in the ashtray.   
_ Some incense, that is. _   
"How can ye be so sure?" Paul heard John asking very quietly. He felt the other shaking a bit in his embrace.   
"'Cause I love ye. It's that simple, John."   
"Everyone that has ever loved me has left me eventually. So ye will too. Ye won't be here to tell me these things after some time. They all leave, Paul. I'm left alone."   
The poor man couldn't just understand how wrong he was. Paul wasn't going anywhere.   
_ I'm not going anywhere, John. _   
He was making a mistake.   
He couldn't erase John from his memories. With him Paul had been living the time of his life. He couldn't let that go. He needed to change things. He needed to make John remember again.   
Somehow.   
_ I'm done with this procedure. _   
The memory had already started fading. The edges of the scene were foggy. Paul couldn't feel his body anymore.   
"John, we have to go."   
"Wha'?"   
Paul grabbed John's hand, threw the already vanishing blanket away and dragged the other off the bed with him. They had to leave the memory together. They couldn't be separated anymore.   
_ Running through the collapsing walls. The ground felt like cotton wool under their feet. Scenes and pictures from other memories flashing around them. John's grip on Paul's hand was becoming loose. The timeless place inside Paul's head couldn't hold them together any longer. _ _  
_ _ John's hand slipped away. _ _  
_ _ He was gone. _

"Where are ye?"   
_ The memories weren't consistent anymore. It was all messing with Paul's head. He couldn't take a hold on anything. Flashes of things he had experienced with John were spinning before his eyes. Running from a memory to another looking for John he felt like he had lost him for good. _   
"John!"   
He saw John across the bookstore. He turned to look at Paul and smiled at him.   
"There ye are!" Paul sighed and ran toward John to take his hand. "We need to leave now."   
"What's wrong, Macca?" John asked, confused.   
"There's no time to explain, come!"   
Paul dragged John out of the store rather violently. Bumping into strangers they stormed into the street. Or so they thought. The scene was defective. The was nothing left to see. Nothing left to feel.   
_ The memory was leaving them. _ _  
_ _ Or him. _ _  
_ "John?"   
_ John wasn't there anymore. _ _  
_ _ Paul fell through emptiness. Another memory was coming along. His head was a really illogical place to be. _ _  
_ _ A new picture was forming before his eyes again. _ _  
_ He saw records scattered across the floor. The song playing was a familiar one.  _ The Boxer.  _ John was smiling and looking through the LP's in front of him. They were all Paul's. The memory looked like Paul didn't remember it very well. The shapes were trembling, the edges covered by the same fog he had seen so many times before. John somehow glowed in the middle of the room. Paul always remembered John. He was always there, clear as a day.   
"Ye really have a great collection, luv", John said, looking happier than ever. It broke Paul's heart.   
"John."   
"Yeah?"   
"Take me hand."   
The grip was firm. Paul lifted John from the floor and began running toward the door. He couldn't lose John again, not this time. They had to get away. Go somewhere else.   
Where, Paul didn't know.   
_ He looked down and didn't see anything else than fog. The building had vanished below his feet once again. He felt John's hand in his own. Up above them there were millions of stars, shining so brightly the sky was completely white. The smell of something burnt lingered in the nothingness they were drifting in. _

"What's that smell?"   
Paul's flat. The two guys that were supposed to look after the procedure were reading Paul's music magazines and eating his food. The fridge was almost empty by now.   
"Dunno. It comes from the helmet, don't it?"   
The other got up and went to check the helmet that was on Paul's head. Something there smelled really burnt.   
The guy stubbed out his fag and went to look at the screens. Everything seemed normal.   
"The lad has a long hair, though. It could be burning."   
"Could do with a haircut, then."   
"A hippie or summat."   
"Ah, right."   
They really couldn't care any less.

Paul felt like he wasn't going to lose John anymore. The grip was so firm, his hold on John's hand didn't loosen at any point.   
_ Good memories filled up his mind now. He saw bits of various scenes, pictures of them listening to records and having coffee at their favourite cafeteria. They were smiling all the time. Paul could breath again. He wasn't cold anymore. Happiness was filling him. _   
They stopped somewhere. Paul couldn't make out the picture at first, but then he realised it was the beach they had stopped on while driving across the country last summer.   
John had let go of Paul's hand. He was suddenly 10 metres away from Paul. He was laughing and smiling. The waves hit the beach. Paul had a song he connected to this memory.  _ A Hazy Shade of Winter  _ was playing somewhere.   
"Come on then, Macca!" John shouted and started running around the beach. The sand was warm. It tickled Paul's bare feet.  _ No shoes, then? _ _  
_ John ran to the sea. The cold water met his feet and he laughed soundly. Paul smiled fondly and looked at the scene properly. John's silhouette against the hazy sky was so delicate. He wasn't going anywhere. The procedure would be interrupted soon enough and everything would go back to normal.   
_ The sea was breaking apart. _ _  
_ _ The waves that hit John's feet evaporated into the air. _ _  
_ "No!"   
Paul ran to John and took a hold of him by wrapping his arms around the other's middle. John was still giggling. It felt very surreal. Frightening.   
_ Their bodies were vanishing simultaneously. Feet, legs, thighs. Paul could still feel John's back against his chest when there really wasn't anything to feel. _ _  
_ _ Floating through time and space. That was what it was like to Paul. Nothing was consistent, nothing was real. He couldn't wrap his mind around anything. There was nothing to see, to feel, to hear or smell. Not even his own body. _ _  
_ _ John was still there. The presence of John was always something Paul could sense, no matter time, place or nothing of that. _ _  
_ _ Music. _ _  
_ _ It seemed to tie everything together. Paul heard a band playing somewhere. He couldn't recognise the song although he knew it was a familiar one. _ _  
_ _ He could feel his body again. The scene was building around him. The map had let him to another memory. _ _  
_ "Man, they are fuckin' great!" Paul heard John yelling next to him. He suddenly realised where they were.   
It was a concert they had been to a year ago. John had known the singer of the group who had invited them to the event. They hadn't had to pay for the tickets. It had been one of the greatest things Paul had ever experienced in his unhappy life.   
"Didn't know ye had friends like them!" Paul shouted back at him and smiled. The feeling of eternal happiness was back. He didn't want this memory to fall apart. He wanted to keep this one forever.   
John laughed soundly and drew Paul closer. He kissed him just when the chorus started again. Paul hadn't remembered how good it had actually felt. It was a special kiss, not the kind they shared every day.   
Used to share.   
John broke the sweet kiss and looked at Paul smiling widely. He was so happy. That's why these memories were so important to Paul. John was happy in them. It was all he wanted since John was rarely happy. Just like himself.   
"Let's dance", John said when a quick song started playing. Paul remembered he had gone to the loo at this point. That was probably why the memory was falling apart now.   
"No, we have to go, luv", Paul said and took John's hand in his own. They had to get away. This couldn't keep on going. Something had to be done. Paul was trying to think of any ideas, bad ones even, just something to go with. His head hadn't been this empty in a long time.   
Except that time wasn't a legit concept here.   
_ Paul looked at the stage and saw the band members ripping into tiny little pieces, like tissue paper. The chords sounded wrong, the place was shaking dramatically. He couldn't lose John. He tightened the grip on the other's hand. Running across the nonexistent floor they escaped the chaos. _ _  
_ _ Suddenly Paul had an idea. _

_ He didn't know how he had done it, but going back in own head seemed to be possible. _ _  
_ _ The sky was dark. Paul had no idea where they were. John was holding his hand, afraid of letting go. _ _  
_ _ Paul knew only one thing. Going forward would result in finding the place he was looking for. _ _  
_ _ He had to find the doctor and talk to him. _

The computers in Paul's flat were beeping rapidly. The two guys woke up from their nap and started fussing around.   
"What the hell is goin' on?!" the other yelled in panic. The noise was unbearable.   
"Somethin's wrong, mate!" the second one clarified the situation. It didn't actually make anything less confusing.   
"Fer fuck's sake, he goin' places!" the first one exclaimed after seeing the graphics on the screens.   
"Wha'?" His mate was still asleep, apparently.   
"The man's off the bloody map, ye arse! Why didn' we pay attention to 'im?"   
"We were fuckin' sleepin'!"   
"Some workin', that is."   
"I'm gonna call the boss to come 'ere", the other one of the two sighed and took his Nokia out of his pocket. They couldn't do anything themselves.   
"Right. He's gonna be happier than ever."

_ They found the clinic eventually. The place seemed deserted, there was not a soul in sight. Or maybe it was just the fact that the memory wasn't consistent in any way. It was off. Nothing was like it was meant to be because it wasn't meant to be at all. _   
Paul dragged John inside. He had to find the bastard and tell him to stop this madness. They couldn't keep on doing this. He had changed his mind.   
He didn't want to forget John.   
The lobby was dark and empty. Paul made an attempt at ignoring everything around him. He just wanted to keep John close to him and escape this fucked up place as quickly as possible. He just hoped the doctor could do something about it.   
Storming in the man's office they found him staring at the door, like he had been expecting to see them.   
"What're you doing here?" he asked.   
Or maybe he was just half dead.   
"I've changed me mind!" Paul shouted and squeezed John's hand harder. He was out of breath although he hadn't even been running.   
"What do you mean?" The man was clearly baffled. He looked at John with disbelieving eyes.   
"Stop this! I don't want to forget him! Stop this madness!"   
John's lips seemed sealed. He couldn't say a thing.   
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that", the doctor said and began staring at the wall instead. He wasn't really there.   
"What?" Paul yelled. He was distraught. He needed this to end. It couldn't be that hard to stop it, could it?   
"I'm just a part of your head, McCartney. I'm not real", the doctor said calmly. An empty smile spread across his blank features.   
"What does that even mean?"   
"You can't reach the real me from this world. I'm you, you see."   
That didn't make things easier at all.   
_ They had to leave the clinic before it all collapsed on them. What a wild-goose chase. _

_ It was like jumping from a conclusion to another. They were in another memory all of a sudden. There was no joint, the scene changed before their eyes in a blink of an eye. That phrase was a really good one for this situation because no other measurements of time were relevant. There was no time whatsoever. _ _  
_ _ The memory was another one from John's flat. Paul remembered he used to spend a lot of time there before they moved together. Somehow he had always preferred John's flat. He really couldn't understand why the other had insisted on moving to Paul's place. It was a pathetic rathole compared to the artistic home John had. _ _  
_ _ Paul missed the place a lot. _ _  
_ "Memories?"   
"Yeah", Paul breathed and rubbed his face. He had just told John everything about this bloody complicated situation they were in. He was certain the other hadn't understood a thing. He didn't blame him, though. He was lost too.   
"Running from a memory to another. That sounds fucked up, man", John said carelessly and lit a ciggie.    
"It is so much more than that." Paul couldn't understand how the man was so calm about this. He was having a mental breakdown, for fuck's sake.   
"I need to stop this. There has to be something to do about this. I have to stop the flow of the memories and get the hell out of here with ye."   
"But yer inside of yer own head, luv."   
Paul sighed deeply. He needed a cigarette desperately.   
"That's the point. That leaves one option. I have to wake up somehow. Gimme a fag, man", he said and waved his hand in front of John who dug another cigarette from his pack and gave it to Paul. John lit it for him.   
"How can ye wake up when yer here? Yer not actually there, sleepin' y'know", John asked and twisted the almost burnt up ciggie in his fingers.    
"Mate, I'm not here. I'm there, lying unconscious. This is not real. This is my mind. I have access to me own mind, don't I? I must be able to wake up from here."   
"This is fucking with me brain", John stated and puffed on his ciggie for the last time before throwing the butt away.   
"Yeah, luv, mine too. But I think I should try it, y'know, wakin' up", Paul said and smiled at the other. John raised one eyebrow and looked at Paul. The look in his narrow eyes was confused.   
"How?"   
"Like this."

"What the fuck, man?!"   
Paul's flat. One of the two guys noticed some changes in the screens. Paul's face was twisting slightly. The smell of something burnt was back.   
"What're ye screamin' fer?" the other questioned.   
"Come 'ere and see fer yerself, ye arse! He's wakin' up!"   
"What?!"   
The computers were bleeping annoyingly. Something was clearly off. Waking up in the middle of procedure seemed impossible, though. It could be fatal.   
"How is he doin' that?"   
"Don't ask me, mate! Didn't ye call the boss?"   
"Oh fuck, I forgot!"   
"How the fuck?!"   
"I jus' did, man!"   
"Call him now, fer Christ's sake!"   
"Wait."   
Paul's face wasn't twisting anymore. The place didn't smell burnt. It was silent.   
"He didn't wake up, then."   
"Thank god for that."

The place had changed. Paul couldn't recognise it instantly because of the lights. It was very dark in the room. He felt cold somehow but the blood in his veins was boiling. Then he heard someone unzipping their pants.   
_ Oh god, it's this one. _   
They were in his flat this time. One of their first times of having sex, he thought. He heard John's frantic breathing above him. He couldn't remember why they had turned the lights off, though.   
"John", he whispered. The other stopped his actions.   
"Wha', luv?"   
"It didn't work."   
"Right, I see", John said, zipped his pants and sat next to Paul. They were in his bed.   
"I thought I saw the ceiling but I'm not sure. Me eyes weren't open", Paul said quietly and took John's hand in his own.   
"How could ye have seen the ceiling if yer eyes weren't open, mate? Are ye okay?" John asked, trying to lighten the mood. Paul just sighed and squeezed John's hand harder.   
"Through me eyelids, it's hard to explain."   
They sat there in silence for a while before John spoke up again. "Have ye tried to go somewhere I don't belong?"   
"What'd ye mean?"   
"Try to pick a memory from yer childhood or summat, something from a time when we didn't know each other. Try to pull me there with ye. Maybe that would mess things up enough", John suggested. Paul pondered it for a minute. It seemed like an idea worth of trying.   
"Yeah, they said they had assembled a map of some sorts from the memories of ye I have. So if I picked a memory where ye don't belong, I would be off the map and that would complicate the procedure", Paul mumbled to himself. John was smiling at him and rubbed his thumb against the back of Paul's hand.   
"Didn't I say I was a genius, luv?" he whispered into Paul's ear. The sensation sent shivers down his spine.   
"I think ye did", Paul breathed out, playing along for a bit before pushing the other from the bed and laughing uncontrollably.   
"Sod off", John mumbled and rubbed his hurting back. Paul got up and took the other's hand again. He could feel the memory was falling apart.   
"Come on, then. I have a memory fer us", he said smiling slyly and dragged John up.   
"Don't be so violent, Macca!"   
_ The walls of the flat came down all at once. The lights returned, it was almost blinding. Paul felt the floor disappearing once again. He was running in nothingness with John. He just hoped the memory he had picked would find them in time. _

_ This memory was something Paul cherished. He didn't have many memories like this one, his childhood wasn't the easiest kind. But he always remembered this one with fondness. It seemed like the perfect kind for them. He thought John had the right to know it. He was everything Paul had now. _   
The smell of the place was very different from the one that lingered in his own flat constantly. Paul loved every smell his childhood home had but this particular one was his favourite. It was the reason he had picked this memory.   
Mary was still alive. She was cooking dinner. Paul's favourite kind.   
God, he had missed this.   
He was ten years old. He was hiding behind the kitchen door, waiting for a chance to go and steal some cookies Mary had baked earlier.   
It was a sunny day. His brother Mike was in his room, probably napping. Their dad was reading a newspaper in the living room.   
Paul couldn't remember a day when he had been this happy.   
_ Where's John? _   
John had disappeared. Maybe the trick hadn't worked after all. He was nowhere to be seen. Paul was starting to panic.   
"Paul, yer teacher is here!" he heard his dad yelling across the living room.   
_ That has to be John. _   
Paul ran into the kitchen when he saw Mary had turned her back at him and stole a couple of cookies. Mary turned around just in time to see his son storming out from the room.   
"This is the last time, Paulie!" she shouted after him and laughed soundly. She had a beautiful laugh. Paul missed it every day of his life.   
"Yes, Dad?" he said with mouth full of cookies. He saw Jim and another man standing in the living room.   
"Yer teacher wants to talk with ye. What have ye done, James?" Jim said, walked to Paul and ruffled his hair. Paul whined.   
"Don't call me that, Dad!" Jim snorted and went to the kitchen to his wife.   
"Paul?"   
"John?"   
John had indeed taken the form of Paul's old teacher. He still recognised John's face, he was just wearing the awful clothes Paul's English teacher used to wear. Bloody 80's.   
"It worked", John said and smiled widely. Paul couldn't believe it either.   
"What now?"

"He's off the bloody map!"   
The computers in Paul's flat were bleeping aggressively than before. Something was seriously wrong.   
"What the hell, man? Why didn't ye pay attention to him?"   
"The magazines the hippie has are way too interesting, okay?" the other yelled back and went to check the helmet. Everything was just like it was supposed to be. Nothing seemed off. Except for the noisy bleeping.   
"What happened in the first place?" the other guy questioned. He looked at the screens for the first time in hours and saw the map of Paul's memories. It was a mess.   
"He decided to go to take a holiday, I don't know! He's off the map anyway. The memory he's in right now is not the right one."   
"What the fuck, man? This says the memory isn't even from the time he knew that other fella, John", the other exclaimed when he noticed the actual changes in the map.   
"He's fuckin' with us! The bugger!"   
"Can ye fix this?"   
"The hell I can! Call the bloody boss now! He's gonna kill us anyway", the other yelled. His mate went to look for his phone while cursing under his breath. They should have kept an eye on the monitors. That was what they were there for. They weren't doing their bloody job. Awesome.   
It took a while for the boss to answer the phone. He wasn't too pleased about hearing of his employees' fuck up. He didn't seem too pleased either when he arrived at Paul's flat. He was fuming.   
"How the fuck is this possible? I trusted you!" he screamed at the two unfortunate boys. "What were you doing? You were supposed to keep an eye on the computers and him in case something like this would happen. You weren't doing any of that!"   
"We know, boss, we fucked up. Can ye jus' help us out? Somethin' needs to be done, this hippie should be put back on the map", the other one of them answered. He was clearly embarrassed. The boss didn't seem to care.   
"Yeah yeah, I'm here to do your fucking job", he muttered and went up to the monitors. He clicked his tongue.   
"This is bad, fellas. This is really bad. It'll take at least three hours", he said and looked up at the boys. "Thanks for fucking my sleeping pattern up, mates."   
It took longer than just three hours for him to fix the mess. The two guys didn't understand a thing their boss was doing so they just watched as the old man worked on the problem. It was 3 AM. One of the two dozed off for a minute or two.   
"Oi, wake up, mate, he's done!" the other one woke him up when their boss sighed, relieved.   
"Promise me you won't let the screens out of your sight anymore", he demanded. The boys nodded silently. They were slightly scared of the old man.

John didn't have time for answering. The memory was falling apart again.   
"How is this happening? I'm not on the map anymore!" Paul exclaimed. He could feel himself growing quickly. He had been in the form of his ten-year-old self but now he was turning back into his normal thirty-year-old self. It hurt quite a bit, really.   
"Didn't ye say there was two guys in yer flat working on the procedure?" John asked. It was hard for Paul to hear him, the memory was filled with vague sounds that the collapsing caused. He still nodded as an answer.   
"Maybe they found out about our plan? Maybe they can see yer off the map somehow?" John suggested. It made perfect sense.   
"We're screwed, John", Paul breathed. He looked almost his age now. His legs were hurting. He could see John transforming into his real form too.   
"No, we're not, luv. Just think of another memory and we'll go there", John shouted and took Paul's hand. He pulled Paul with him. There wasn't a lot left of the house, they needed to get away as soon as possible.    
Suddenly Paul remembered another memory from his childhood. It wasn't a happy one but he was certain that John would fit in it seamlessly. That would probably keep them safe for a while.   
_ Places were shifting again. Paul could see the new memory take shape in front of them. The nothingness had started to feel a bit like home, like he belonged there. Maybe it was because of the void that was eating him alive. The feeling of nothing being around him filled the hole inside him oddly. A content sigh escaped from his lips. _   
While the place was given a new form, he felt himself change physically too. He took the shape of his fourteen-year-old self. He was outside his school, The Liverpool Institute.   
"Oi, mates! It's the orphan lad again, McCartney!" Paul heard a boy shout at his pals. His throat tightened a bit. Tears prickling in his eyes. He saw a gang of bullies gather around him. He still remembered each and every one of their faces.   
"Ye poor thing, ye don't even have a mum! Couldn't imagine living a life like that. How are ye still here? How haven't ye offed yerself yet?" the biggest one of the boys nagged. The others joined him repeating the phrase 'crybaby' all over again. Paul noticed the tears had started streaming down his round cheeks.   
"Yer so pathetic, McCartney. Could ye just do the world a favour and leave fer good?" the big guy said and kicked Paul in the leg. He fell down on the ground and hurt his nose. It was bleeding. His face was smeared with tears and blood. The boys laughed spitefully.   
"Look at that face, lads! That's the face of a boy who is nothin'! An absolute zero!"   
"Stop it."   
Paul looked up and saw a tall boy who was facing the big bully with a determined look on his face. He felt a spark of hope lit inside him.   
_ That has to be John. _   
"Ye again", the bully spat. "Jus' fuck off, mate. This has nothin' to do with ye."   
"Maybe, but I'll always defend me friend's brother. Did ye hear me? If ye hurt him again, ye will have to account to me for that", John said firmly. He looked rather intimidating. Paul could see the bully getting nervous.   
"Why are ye so keen on protecting him, anyway? Are ye a poof?" the boy asked John. He clearly didn't have anything wise to say anymore. John laughed at the question sarcastically.   
"That's none of yer business, man. Get lost, will ye?"   
There wasn't anything left to do so the bully and his friends left Paul and John alone. John lifted Paul up from the ground and looked at him smiling a triumphant smile.   
"I saved yer poor arse, boy", he whispered and hugged Paul tightly. Paul almost started to cry again.   
"Thank you, John", he whispered against John's shoulder.   
"I think I'm supposed to be yer brother's friend or something, can't remember the fella's name, though", John said pondering and let go of Paul.   
"Yeah, I know the guy but the name didn't stay", Paul said and smiled. His face was still hurting even though it was only a memory of the pain he had felt years and years back.   
They started walking away from the school, down the streets of Liverpool. It felt like they had done this in their childhood together. That wasn't possible though since they had only met in London. It still felt like a very normal thing to do with John, walking together in lil ol' Liddypool.   
"Do ye think we fooled them enough?" John spoke up suddenly. Paul looked at him and thought about it. Everything was such a mess, he didn't really have a hold on anything.   
"I don't know, luv", he whispered and took John's hand in his own. He rubbed the back of John's hand with his thumb.   
"I really hope so, Macca", John said quietly to which Paul only nodded. He had no words left.

"How the fuck did he do that again?"   
The other one of the guys in Paul's flat had dozed off for the second time and was woken up by his mate's yelling.   
"The hell you shoutin' about?" he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. The other one sighed disappointedly.   
"Ye were sleepin'?"   
"Yeah, so what?"   
"Ye should be helpin' me fer fuck's sake, man! Get yer lazy arse over here and look at this mess", the other exclaimed and beckoned his friend to come look at the screens.   
"What is it?" the other asked while getting up. There shouldn't be anything wrong with the procedure anymore, their boss had fixed everything, hadn't he?   
"It seems like the bloke isn't in the right memory." The screens did look rather odd.   
"How did he do that?"   
"That's what I just said, ye idiot!"   
"We can't call the boss again", one of the guys sighed and rubbed his tired face.   
"Wait. I might know what could help us", the other wondered and started to write some commands.

_ The setting had changed once again. The place felt somewhat familiar to Paul, like he was meant to be there. There was something else filling the void inside him than the comfortable nothingness. _   
Something had formed in his hands. It was quite heavy. He felt a blanket covering his legs. A pair of brown eyes were staring at him, smiling.   
He couldn't place the memory in a timeline or anything but he was sure it had really happened to him and John. It wasn't a memory he had brought John into. It was theirs.   
He was on the map again.   
"I really like the way yer lyrics sound", John said and smiled his contagious smile wider than ever. He looked so young. The memory had to be from a time they had just started seeing each other regularly, which was about 18 months ago.   
"Thanks, man", Paul whispered and touched John's hand that was resting on his thigh. They looked at each other in the eye for a long time. Paul remembered it had meant the world to him in that moment. It had been everything he'd had.   
They were singing songs Paul had written over the years. Some of them were absolute shite in his opinion but John seemed to love every single one of them. And it was everything Paul needed to know. He still felt the infinite love he'd had for John back then, when he'd said those words to him. The feeling was growing stronger all the time.   
Paul was just about to start to sing another song of his. He flipped through the pages of his notebook that laid open in front of him hoping to find a good enough poem he could turn into a beautiful tune. When he had found the one, he raised his head and didn't see John anywhere.   
"John?" he shouted.   
No answer.   
_ It's happening again. _   
He had lost John. The man had disappeared despite the fact that Paul had been trying so hard to keep him with him. John was gone.   
_ Oh my god. _   
He could feel the memory of his beloved slipping through his fingers.

_ The memories weren't consistent anymore. Parts of moments flashing before Paul's eyes. The scenes were passing by so quickly he couldn't realise anything else than John was always gone. He looked beside him and didn't see the other there. He wasn't anywhere. He couldn't be found. _ _  
_ _ The nothingness had started to fill the void again. The feeling of emptiness under his feet was one to always look forward to. He didn't have anything else left now that love had been taken away from him. Permanently. _ _  
_ _ Paul didn't believe he could find John again. He'd had such a tight hold on him that he'd thought losing him was impossible. He'd tried everything to keep him there but he had still slipped away from him. _ _  
_ _ Maybe he didn't deserve John after all. _ _  
_ _ Maybe he was meant to live his miserable life alone without anyone to love him. _ _  
_ _ He hadn't been very wise when he had decided to start the erasing memories thing, had he? Why had he wanted to erase the only person who cared about him from his life? _ _  
_ _ What a stupid git he had been. _ _  
_ _ Frame after frame Paul noticed John was gone. He could feel the memories were at their end. It would be over soon enough. All of it. _ _  
_ _ The urge to hold John and kiss him and tell him how much he loved him was overwhelming. _ _  
_ _ Maybe jumping in front of a train would be a good thing to do after all of this bullshit. _

Paul felt something cold against his back. He was lying on it. It didn't take long for him to realise what memory he was in.   
_ I'm on the lake. _   
He saw the stars shining brightly down at him just like back then. He felt someone's presence near him. John was there.   
_ I found him. _   
"I like to think that the stars we see shining most brightly are people that have been important to this world", Paul heard John's voice say next to him. He instantly remembered the conversation they'd had. "Like that one right there. That must be Frank Sinatra. He was such a cool kid."   
Right after that he had started thinking about his mother and her death. He couldn't do any differently this time either. The tears were back on his cheeks. It seemed they actually belonged there.   
"Ye okay, son?" John asked tenderly.   
Or his voice.   
Paul turned his head to the left where the voice came from but didn't see anyone there. He instantly got up from the ice.   
"JOHN!" he screamed and looked around him. The man was nowhere to be seen.   
He hadn't even been there.   
But how had Paul heard his voice, then?   
"John!" he cried again and ran around the ice, which was completely  useless. It wasn't like John was just going to appear in front of his eyes.   
But then again, nothing made sense in Paul's head.   
"John!" he shouted when he saw the man lying on the ice and trying to reach out for him.   
"Paul", he whispered barely audibly. There was something wrong with him.   
"Are ye okay, luv?" Paul asked as he ran toward John. He grabbed John's hands and lifted him up. John was a bit shaky.   
"I don't know, I feel a bit weird", he said with a confused tone. "I was next to ye and suddenly I was in a completely another place. How the fuck is that possible, Macca?"   
"Don't start questioning the possibilities, John. None of this is possible and yet here we are. We need to get out of here now", Paul stated and squeezed John's hand harder. John nodded and didn't say anything.   
They started running across the frozen surface of the lake, leaving the water behind. The scenery changed in front of their eyes by slowly fading into complete whiteness and then returning to consistent surroundings. Paul recognised them immediately.   
_ How did we get here again? _   
He hadn't consciously hoped for arriving at the clinic for a second time. He’d just been thinking about getting away as soon as possible. This scenery seemed to be the first thing that came to his mind, then. For whatever reason.   
Maybe it was a good thing after all. Maybe he had really meant to come here.   
Suddenly he had an idea.   
“John, ye need to hold me hand very tight, okay?” Paul said as he turned to look at the man beside him. John nodded and took Paul’s hand in his own once again and squeezed it. Paul smiled faintly.   
The sky was dark. There was no light whatsoever. The streets were empty; it looked like they were the only people on earth. They walked up to the clinic slowly. Paul opened the door and peeked inside.   
“Empty”, he whispered.   
They stepped in the house and were greeted by a very gross smell. The lights in the lobby were flickering rapidly. John’s hold on Paul’s hand tightened.   
“What are we lookin’ fer?” he asked. Paul wasn’t so sure about that.   
Until he remembered what he had meant to do.   
“Come ‘ere”, he said and pulled John with him in the doctor’s office.   
I  _ have to speak with the doc again.  _   
“What the fuck?” John screamed.   
There was something seriously wrong with the doctor’s face. Maybe it seemed like so because there was no face.   
He was like the bloody Slenderman.

“The hell is goin’ on?”   
The computers in Paul’s flat were bleeping again. It felt like the noise had never stopped.   
“It’s yer turn, ye fatass”, the other of the guys mumbled. He was eating the rest of Paul’s food. The man wouldn’t be left with anything to eat.   
The other went to check the monitors and saw something rather odd.   
“Dude, ye gotta see this”, he breathed and gestured for the other to join him.   
“Wha’ is it, man?”   
Both of them were staring at the screens now. It took a while for the other to understand the situation.   
“How the fuck is that possible?” he whispered.   
“I don’t know, but our hippie is in a memory that has already been erased.”

“Why is his face like that?” John asked frowning. The tone in his voice was very confused.   
“Maybe we should ask where there isn’t a face to begin with”, Paul added. John nodded. He looked disgusted.    
“Oh, right”, Paul whispered suddenly. John turned to look at the other and grasped his hand.   
“We’ve been here before”, he continued. John looked like he didn’t understand.   
“Of course we have, this a memory, luv”, he said and tried catch a glimpse of the other’s gaze.   
“No, no. This memory has been erased”, Paul breathed as he felt a cold breeze in the room. The familiar fog was streaming in from the windows.   
“How are we here, then?”   
“I have no idea.”   
It shouldn’t have been possible. There had to be certain logic in this all, otherwise the procedure itself wouldn’t have been one to execute. Paul’s head had felt a very illogical place for the whole experience but this was too much. They shouldn’t have been able to return to an erased memory.   
The already broken memory was starting to collapse around them. They had to get away – again. The fog had almost covered up the room already.    
“We have to leave, John”, Paul said and dragged the other out of the door into the cold nothingness he had gotten so used to and quite fond of.

_ There were some memories Paul had been waiting for a while to come to him. He was sure he had remembered everything important about John. He felt like there had to be something that happened just after they’d first met. _ _  
_ _ Maybe the next memory was something like that. _   
The surroundings were quite familiar. Paul was sure this place had a special meaning to John. That had to be reason he had remembered it.   
_ The bookstore. _   
Of course. This had to be that one particular day Paul remembered very clearly. He saw the bookshelves that were filled with different kinds of books and the lonely shelf of records John had insisted on having there. Paul giggled slightly.   
John was there, too. He was placing new books in the shelves. That had always been his job.   
“Well, then. What are ye doin’ here?” John asked suddenly. Paul looked at the other man and saw the very typical Lennon grin on his lips.   
“Jus’ came to see ye, mate”, he answered plainly and followed John who moved the cart in the corridors.   
“Ye always have a reason for comin’ here, luv”, John said suggestively and placed another book in the shelf. Paul remembered John had really enjoyed this job even though it had been so simple. The man loved books, that was all there was to it.   
“Yeah, yer right”, Paul breathed and cast his gaze down. He fidgeted with his hands for a while. “I wanted to know what this thing we have is.”   
They hadn’t started dating at this point. Paul had been very confused. This memory was important to him because it had been a turning point for many reasons.   
“What thing?” John said while organising the books in the shelves. Some of them had fallen.   
_ He can be really annoying at times. _   
“This!” Paul said firmly and pointed at John and then back at himself. The other just laughed it away and moved the cart to the next shelf.   
“That’s up to you, Macca. It depends on what you want this to be”, he answered slyly.   
Paul thought about it for a while. What he had wanted it to be wasn’t any different than what he wanted it to be now. It was still the same. He surely knew that.   
He pushed the cart aside, rushed to John and kissed him fiercely. He pushed the man against the bookshelf hard and started touching John’s body wherever he could reach his hands to. It felt just as intoxicating as it had back then. A muffled moan escaped from John’s lips as he pushed his hands into Paul’s long curly hair. He held the other tightly against his own body when suddenly he let go.   
“John”, Paul sighed. He was out of breath. The other smirked at him cunningly.   
“So that’s what you want.” John reached for Paul’s right cheek and stroked it gently with his thumb. The younger closed his eyes concentrating on the touching.   
“Yeah”, he whispered. John nodded without saying a word. The fog was returning. The smell of burnt lingered in the air.   
“We have to go”, Paul said suddenly. His eyes snapped open.   
“Again?”

_ The last memory was definitely one of the greatest Paul had of John. He was afraid there wasn’t going to be any good ones anymore. He felt like the memories had come to their end, really. That there wasn’t anything left to see, left to remember. But one particular memory he hadn’t come across yet. Its time was now. He couldn’t leave the map anymore; the two guys had done something in his flat. _ _  
_ _ The procedure was ending. There was only one thing left to see. _   
The first memory.   
Paul could hear music. It had to be a band playing. Well, it was since he recalled that clearly. One could never forget the first time they had met the love of their life, could they?   
Or maybe they could.   
John was nowhere to be seen. Paul had a strange feeling that he already knew where the other was. He pushed himself through the crowd and bumped into some strangers. The place was a tiny club somewhere in Merseyside. It was packed with people who had come to see the band. Paul couldn’t remember how he had ended up there. He had known nobody from the band or anyone who could have recommended the concert.   
He was getting nearer the stage. He could hear the singer’s voice now. The band was some kind of a rock and roll band. It all felt very nostalgic, like the group had been brought there straight from the 60’s.   
He could see the stage now. The sight had already been tattooed on his eyelids but it was good to see it again.   
John was standing on the stage, playing the guitar and singing into the mic like there was no tomorrow. He looked drained and could hardly stand straight. The gig had been a long one, apparently.   
Paul was in the middle of the dancing and cheering crowd. He looked directly at John and smiled a sad sort of smile. He knew then the end had come. There wasn’t anything left to do. He was about to lose the only person who had ever loved him with such tenderness. The future didn’t seem to hold anything for him anymore.   
He still decided to enjoy this memory because it was the fondest of them all. It was all he had left. The image of John before his eyes was hazy. The hold Paul had on him was starting to loosen for the last time.   
The song ended. The audience applauded and cheered as the band bowed for them. Paul wiped his eyes.   
_ Well, at least I can still cry. _   
The group disappeared from the stage after thanking their audience five times. Paul knew what he had to do. He went after them without anyone noticing.   
The backstage was a pathetic place. There weren’t dressing rooms or anything, just a general space for the band to change clothes and tune the instruments. Paul peeked into the room from behind the corner. He caught John’s gaze immediately. The other grinned at him as he encouraged Paul to come in.   
“Ye want autographs, then?” John asked coyly. There was that familiar spark in his eyes when he looked at Paul. It had always been there.   
_ Not after this memory is gone. _   
“Ye were really good, lads. I see ye only had a lead guitarist. I could come and play the rhythm guitar fer ye”, Paul said without answering the question. The band indeed had only one guitarist, John. The other members were a bassist and a drummer but that wasn’t enough for a band like this.   
“Yer very confident, mate. Can ye even play a guitar? With a face like that I really doubt it.”   
_ Had he been this flirtatious from the beginning? _   
“I’ll show ye”, Paul said as he grabbed John’s guitar from the other’s hands. He held the guitar backwards. This earned a raised eyebrow from John.   
“Are ye sure ye can play the thing?” he asked smirking. Paul ignored the stupid comment and started playing a song the band had been playing earlier, Elvis Presley’s  _ Jailhouse Rock _ . It wasn’t an easy song but Paul nailed it. He even remembered all of the lyrics accurately. John was very impressed.   
“The place is yers”, he stated when the song had ended. Paul nodded nonchalantly. In reality he was very proud of himself.   
Paul knew what was about to happen next. After that everything would be over. The procedure would be finished and there wouldn’t be anything left of John in his memories. Leaving the backstage he went back to the club. He could already feel the illusion falling apart when he heard someone shouting his name.   
_ I didn’t even introduce myself. _   
“Paul, wait!”   
Paul turned to look back. John ran from the backstage to him. He looked worried. Maybe he too knew what was coming for them.   
“This didn’t happen”, Paul whispered.   
“No, it didn’t. That’s why it needs to be done, luv. Stay here. Yer supposed to leave, I know, but stay. Maybe that will be enough”, John said as he grabbed Paul’s other shoulder firmly.   
“Enough fer what?”   
“Fer us.”   
Paul doubted it was. He was going to stay there just for John. He didn’t hope for any miracle. He had made a terrible mistake and it couldn’t be fixed. Not anymore.   
They kissed for the last time in the middle of the crowd. The club around them was already vanishing. Furniture floating in the air and turning into small fragments of fibre. A strange wind blew in their hair and made them feel the disappearance of the other’s body. They clung to each other, not wanting to let go. They were leaving together.   
John pulled away from Paul just enough for him to whisper something in the man’s ear.   
“Goodbye, luv.”

“Well, then.”   
The procedure was done. Every memory of John had been erased from Paul’s mind. There was nothing left. If the two met on the streets, they wouldn’t recognise each other anymore.   
“Nicely done, mate”, the other of the two guys praised his colleague.   
“Shut the fuck up. Everything went like shit, man.”   
They shut the computers and disconnected them from the helmet. They took the metal thing from Paul’s head and revealed a mess of hair.   
“He sure is a hippie”, the other stated.   
The pair left the flat without making a sound. The place looked like a dumpster, though. And Paul did notice that after he’d woken up.   
“What the fuck?” he shouted. There were bits of food on the floor, glasses and plates everywhere. His music magazines were scattered across the flat, some were even in his bed. He was certain he hadn’t done this.   
“Whatever”, he sighed and went to brush his teeth. The day didn’t start off very well. Maybe going to work was something he could skip today. Or maybe he could skip living.

Paul had gone to the station. He was waiting for the train that would take him to his job. Suddenly he changed his mind. He heard an announcement about a train going to Notting Hill.   
_ This is my salvation. _

The tiredness of driving all night had settled in Paul's body. They were outside John's place. The other had just woken up while Paul was drifting into sleep.   
"Let me come over", John begged and looked at Paul with those soft brown eyes.   
"Let me sleep, man", Paul mumbled. He tried to find a comfortable position in the seat.   
"Come on, I won't bother ye fer long, just let me see yer flat!" John exclaimed and turned to the right to face Paul. The latter cast his gaze down to stare at John's lips for whatever reason.   
"I'm gonna get some stuff. Stay here."   
John got out of the car, closed the door with a loud slam and ran toward the door of his home. Paul sighed deeply and started to look for John's ciggies.   
Running up the stair to his flat John thought about the man he had just met the night before. He had had a strange feeling that he had met this fella somewhere else earlier. In fact, it seemed like he knew every inch of Paul's face, every movement of his body. Even the way he reacted to John's jokes and other shit felt very familiar.   
_ Nah, it's just me imagination. _   
He opened the door to his flat and went in to look for some stuff. He planned on staying overnight at Paul's even though the bugger didn't know about it just yet.   
John stopped in his tracks when he saw a letter on the floor in front of the door. It seemed a bit thicker than your average letter. He picked it up and opened it.   
"A tape?"   
There was a cassette and a piece of paper in the envelope. The letter had a name of some clinic printed on it. John raised his eyebrows at it.   
"The Clinic of Erased Yesterdays?"   
He read the letter.   
_ “Dear John Lennon, _ _  
_ _ this letter will be one to disturb you a little. You don’t remember any of the things you’re about to read of. And it’s supposed to be that way. Well, it was supposed to be that way. We changed our policies and that’s why we have the need to inform you about this. _ _  
_ _ You used to be our customer. You came here to erase your memories about Paul McCartney. We did just that. You don’t remember anything of Paul or the procedure. Until now not telling anything about the procedure to the former customer after they have forgotten everything about the person they wanted to erase from their life has been our principal. This is us changing it. _ _  
_ _ The tape inside the envelope with this letter contains audio of you talking about Paul to our doctor. The tape is our evidence of the procedure. We also have some items you brought here in order to erase the memories. Sorry about that. You don’t have to listen to yourself talking about how much you hate someone you don’t even remember now but you have the right to. We like to think our customers need to have the right to know about the reasons of some changes they will face after the procedure so that we will avoid awkward and unfortunate situations like the one that brought us to this conclusion. Let’s just say that an old relationship between two coworkers in this clinic ignited again and the other one didn’t know about the history because their memories had been erased and for the fact that  these things were not to be spoken of. We needed to change that. Continuing doing this would injure a lot of people and all we want for our customers is happiness and relief. _ _  
_ _ Thank you for your understanding, _ _  
_ _ The Clinic of Erased Yesterdays” _   
He forgot to grab the stuff. He took the letter and the cassette with him and stormed out the flat and down the stairs. Outside he saw some random bloke running away from Paul's car. The latter was shouting something after the stranger. John walked to the car, opened the door and stepped in.   
"Weren't ye supposed to pick something up?" Paul asked as he put John's cigarettes and lighter away. The other groaned; he really wanted a fag.   
"I found this", he said and showed Paul the tape.   
"What's in it?" he asked. John shrugged and put the cassette in the recorder.   
"Let's find out."   
Soon the tape started playing and John's voice filled the car. The two looked at each other in bafflement.   
"What the fuck?" John whispered to himself. He really didn't remember recording himself saying something. On a tape.   
Someone was interviewing John on the tape. Asking questions about Paul.   
"What the hell man?" Paul shouted at John. He looked furious. The other was shaking his head.   
"I know nothing about this, I swear!"   
"How can ye not? It's ye talking fer Christ's sake!"   
The other man on the tape was asking John about Paul's behaviour and why it made him uncomfortable. John said Paul was overprotective, didn't let him decide on anything and always wanted things to go his way.   
"A selfish bastard, he is. Always coming up with excuses. He really doesn't care about anyone else than himself. Tells me he loves me. Bullshit. Why doesn't he let me choose sometimes?!"   
They looked at each other. John was embarrassed. How could he have said something like that about a man he had just met? It didn't make sense. Paul was hurt. So hurt that he pulled the car over.   
"How the fuck can ye say that?!" He was screaming. His hazel eyes were filled with tears once again. John was utterly in shock.   
"I am so sorry, Macca. I am so sorry. I have no idea what has happened, I have absolutely no memories of saying those things. We just met! Believe me, I'm just as much confused as ye are!" John voice cracked as he reached for Paul's other shoulder. He slapped the hand away.   
"Fuck you! Just leave!" Paul screamed. His face was stained with tears and full of anger. He pointed at the door. John's confidence was crumbling in front of Paul's eyes.   
"Okay", he whispered, opened the car door and stepped out. He was left on the street when Paul drove away at a high speed. John fell down on his knees.

_ Why am I doing this? _   
John promised to himself not to interfere with this again. He had done enough damage. Although it had been done without him noticing.   
He was certain he hadn't been to any clinic to record that shit. But he was also certain that it was him talking on that tape with the unfamiliar voice. He was trapped. He couldn't prove his point to Paul.   
He still wanted to do something. Something he had told himself not to do.   
John was driving to Paul's flat. He had looked up for the man's address. What a pathetic stalker, he was.   
He parked the car, stepped out of it and ran to the house. Soon enough he found the door that had the name McCartney on it. He rang the doorbell twice.   
_ He isn't gonna answer. _   
John heard a faint noise from the flat. It sounded like a record playing. Suddenly the door was being opened.   
"Macca", John breathed when he saw the other man's red and puffed face. He had been crying again.   
"What happened?" John questioned as Paul let him inside. He could hear the noise better now. It wasn't a record, it was someone talking.   
Paul.   
The two stared at each other while listening to the tape without saying anything. Paul was talking with someone on the tape. It was like an interview. John shuddered.   
"He's so fuckin' impulsive, y'know. He just does whatever the fuck he wants without thinkin' about the consequences. He's a grown ass man and cries like a fuckin' baby fer God's sake! But then again, he can be aggressive as shit. Just starts screaming out of nowhere, throwing things and smashing things. He fucks with everyone, messes with people's heads. That's what he did to me. That's why I thought I fell in love with him. No. It was just him screwin' with me. I want him out off me head. All he ever did to me was hurt me."   
Those were Paul's words on the tape. John was crying now. He reckoned this feeling had to be the one Paul had been feeling a couple of days back in the car. He had paid back in the most brutal way possible. There wasn't anything left to feel, to say, to love. Their story had ended before it had started. Well, at least considering the memories they still had of it. The erased memories were lost and out of their reach. Their love story was gone because of their stupidity and childishness. Now there wasn't anything to do to get it back.   
John left the flat he had once known so well wordlessly. He couldn't listen to the tape anymore. Paul's voice kept nagging about the way John had handled their housework while John couldn't remember any of it. He felt guilty about something he didn't remember doing. It fucked with his mind.   
He didn't realise he had been holding his breath until he was in the corridor. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face.   
_ I need to leave all of this behind. _   
"Bye, Macca", John whispered and headed for the stairs when he heard someone closing the flat door behind them. John turned around and saw Paul standing there, looking like a lost boy.   
Paul stepped closer to John until they were face to face, staring at each other. They held the eye contact for almost a minute. Something changed in the mood. Slowly a smile started spreading on Paul's girly features. John felt himself smiling too. They leaned a bit toward one another and sealed the wordless agreement of trying again with a touch of lips.


End file.
